The Surgeon: Last Train to Paradise
by MasterMartin
Summary: Paradise: A planet said to be without suffering or want. A planet of endless resources and love for all. Surely it isn't real...or is it? People have been vanishing left and right, and some had theorised that a train is involved, with this "Paradise" in mind. Surely this needs the help of a Time Lord to crack. But with no Doctor in 112233C, someone else must step to the plate..


10 O'clock. On the dot. Tim Wilkins was late for work. Again.

Or at least, he was going to be. The trains in this station never ran on time. When they said they'd run at 9, they'd run at 10. And when they said they'd run at 10, they'd often break down, almost on cue. He thought that they would at least try to fix that, but his equally dominant cynical side assumed they did that so they didn't actually have to work, or so the employers didn't have to pay anyone to do so. Or SOMETHING, to explain this rampart idiocy from within the station. Tim sighed and sat back down on the bench that he had been lazily slumped over for the past hour or so, fiddling with his red necktie and tapping impatiently on his briefcase. He briefly considered phoning his boss to explain he'd be sick, or at the very least late, once more. But then his mind flashed to said boss, his face as red as a motobug's hide, screaming vaguely in his direction that one more excuse would be met with "harsh, yet justified action". This would be that one more excuse, and it was rather obvious to him that the "action" was to be fired.

Tim threw his briefcase aside, almost like a spoiled child, and buried his face deep into his hands in a mixture of frustration and despair. Life seemed to suck on this backwater planet he lived on. A planet ravaged by war and greed, a planet laid bare and lacking, teetering on the very brink of destruction. He, oh so slowly, began to wish this "Paradise" rumour was true. It seemed too good to be so; legend told of a planet, somewhere out in the borders of the Solar System, where every resource was in seemingly never-ending quantity. The water would flow with the lightest of blues, and would be so pure that you could just plunge your face into the water and drink with no consequence. All trees would grow unendingly, with green stretches of grasslands full of loving animals for miles. There would be no war, or indeed any conflict of any kind. No-one would tire, or suffer, or hate, or destroy. A planet of ever-present peace and harmony.

To think that so many scientists got suckered into it. There had been a newsflash a few weeks back that a suitable planet for this "Paradise" was found, but no-one knew how to get to it with available technology. 'Absolute hogwash,' Tim thought, almost to the point of saying it out loud, 'The mere thought of it. There's no Paradise. Hell, there's no way to even get there!"

And that was when Tim's main thought processes came to a sudden stop. A bright light had flooded his vision, and all main mental actions ceased. Right where the train should have been this morning, a weird silhouette had taken it's place. It was...vaguely in the shape of a train? Tim couldn't tell from this distance. All he could see is that shadow of this unusual vehicle, and all he could think was an dominating urge to get up and walk to it. His legs began to straighten against his sub-conscience will and the being slowly began to stumble to the vehicle in question. His mind felt like someone had plugged a vacuum or something into the back of his neck and it was beginning to suck his brain out through it. Like it was swirling a giant whirlpool consisting of some unknown liquid, and with each passing swirl some basic function was...stolen. He continued to shamble towards the light, his mind now empty and his limbs half limp.

And buttons slowly forming over his eyes.

~~~~~~

"...Huh," Janic mused, "Seventh case this week. Must be some sort of hysteria or something."

The Surgeon mumbled to himself slightly and resumed his work on the console, pulling one wire this way and another wire that way. That was something he always hated with Time And Relative Dimensions In Space ships; they always found a way to break down and could never quite be repaired again. Then again, it was the Time Lord's own fault for stealing a prototype TARDIS (from a museum, of all places) when he went to escape the Time War. Though, to be fair, he picked the prototype only because he knew it was capable of doing the whole "Dimensions" part, as in travelling outside of the void without reducing itself to mulch in the process. He figured that if he went to a universe with no Time Lords, there would be no Time War and he'd never get suckered back into it. Great plan...until he crash landed the thing and regenerated from it. He always cursed the day he forgot to activate the trans-dimensional stabilisers. Or at the very least taken the right turn at universe Theta Delta P12.

But that was some time ago, when he was young and was in his 6th Incarnation. Time Lords often had a funny way of cheating death by, for a lack of better way to describe it, shedding an old body and growing a new one. Even if this meant changing appearance and indeed personality every one of the 12 times it could be done. The Surgeon often cursed his previous incarnations for their blatant immaturity and stupidity, in particular reference to his 8th Incarnation, a man who let countless numbers die due to his own impatience and impulsiveness. So it wasn't the best of instances when he first came too after his latest regeneration and saw someone exactly like him. He didn't exactly get his name, nor did he really care for it. Was it Sonny? Sonniku?...Nicky, maybe? Again, it was irrelevant data to him. He had only just regenerated into his 9th Incarnation, and the stress of Regeneration Sickness wasn't making his new adjustments any easier. Still, he battled through the constant headaches and nausea to work on his TARDIS. He was currently underneath the console itself, pawing questionably at the wires with one hand and holding his trusty Sonic Screwdriver in the other. He had been working on the console itself for hours, mainly to repair damage and re-add parts after it had been cannibalised by outside forces, to suitably modest success rates.

Across from the console, sprawled across one of the large sofas at the edge of the console platform, was Janic Needlemouse, the Surgeon's companion. Their first meeting had been brief and...awkward. But that was in the past now and half of it was fuzzy to the Surgeon at this point anyway. All he truly remembered was that she was once a male hedgehog who had been subjected to some Time Lord DNA that had been collected from The Surgeon himself, and who later...uh..."psuedo-regenerated" when shot point blank with a laser. The Surgeon couldn't tell if she was going through Regeneration Sickness like he was, nor if she was handling it any better if she was. The Surgeon rolled himself out from under the console and looked up at Janic. She was a purple female hedgehog, about 16 years of age and a suitable height for it, with her quills in a ponytail and a red jumper with black jeans for clothes. As noted before, she was currently spread out across one of the sofas that dotted the TARDIS console room, bathing lazily in the green light that the room's light fixtures emitted. She held a newspaper somewhat weakly in her hands while her eyes darted across it's pages, jumping quite awkwardly from word to word. Nevertheless, she seemed rather engrossed in the story.

"What's, uh..." The Surgeon asked, sitting up fully, "What's that you're reading? Something about boys?"

Janic suddenly angled her head to look at the Surgeon, a cheeky grin spread across her face, "No, of course not. It's next week's paper. At least, I THINK it is."

"Ahh, the problems of being able to travel more-or-less anywhere at a single whim," The Surgeon mused, "You lose track of time."

"Or what passes for it in this place," Janic reminded, "You see, I was reading LAST week's newspaper and I noticed a recurring trend among them. There's these...cases of people just vanishing. Not in general, in certain places, mainly train stations. No true eyewitnesses, they just say the person vanished in a flash of light. The light vanishes and the clock is at least a minute faster than it should be. Strange thing."

"Coincidence, you think?" The Surgeon pondered, already waltzing to the TARDIS console in a sub-conscience manner, "OR...maybe the clocks didn't just become that one minute faster. Maybe time itself skipped a bit? It CAN happen after all...and blimey is it painful when it does. Especially when you try to change history and start living back in time...actually, I think that was one of my causes of regeneration. Then again, I had the title of regenerating after cutting myself while shaving back on my home planet. Never quite managed to live that down..."

Janic raised her head to flash The Surgeon a strange look.

"...One of my regenerations was a haemophiliac, alright? Not that it matters, that particular one lived long enough for me to get sick of it."

"It's...odd," Janic said, scrunching up her face, "You make it sound a bit like a pair of disposable gloves. Get them a bit too mucky, throw them away and get a new pair..."

"Better then taking the lives of others to prove we were superior," The Surgeon shrugged, "But enough exposition. About that clock...I don't suppose you've heard of the Train to Paradise?"

"Of course," Janic said, now shifting her body to discard the paper and sit up properly on the sofa, "The special train that promises to bring you to a planet of infinite resources. Sounds like a fantasy...and you're about to tell me that it's real, aren't you?"

"...Maybe..." The Surgeon said, momentarily eyeing the TARDIS console, "You see, while I was repairing the console, I set it up so it could track all the planets in the local sector. And not only have I found a planet that MAY have similar attributes to this 'Paradise', but a set of stellar-metric tracks left in space; tiny rips in the fabric of reality, often left behind by those with warp drives. Besides, I thought that there were no such things as Freedom Fighters or Cybermen in this universe and..well..."

"...Huh," Janic cocked her head to one side, "So you think the Train is kidnapping these people?"

"Again, it's a solid maybe," The Surgeon said, spinning one of the wheels on the TARDIS console and then batting at one of the levers, "Besides, I've checked the local sector for classic Time Lord enemies; Cybermen, Daleks, Sontarens, Cloockvurks...I don't see anything. Besides part two, think about it!" He suddenly skipped to Janic and grabbed her by the shoulders, a large grin spread across his face, "It's an interstellar train! With warp drives and heroes and villains and bowls of fried potato strips just BEGGING to be mixed with sodium chloride and diluted acetic acid!"

Janic flashed a smile, "So, adventure. How do we resist?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"...Sandwich, miss?"

A sudden noise woke Valeria with a sudden start. She raised her head from the window it was sat against in a groggy manner, eyes half-closed and eyelids twitching slightly. She groaned for a small while whilst awaking from her slumber, before finally becoming alert and instantly opening her eyes in shock. A myriad of thoughts were entering her head, including 'This isn't my office!'. Infact, what 'it' really was was what appeared to be some sort of train carriage, one that was lavishly detailed and fancily decorated. From the walls hung curtains covering the windows, coloured a rich golden colour and seemingly unstained, whilst the floor beneath her was a pristine red carpet over oak-wood floorboards, of which no single one creaked or wobbled. The walls were a plain, but understated red also, trimmed with golden pseudo-engravings and images of what appeared to be misty orbs, like a planet. In front of her was a table, seemingly made of marble or ivory and sporting a cupholder and small indentations for a plate and some utensils. Overall, a well decorated area for something so mundane.

She then focused her attention on the...thing in front of her. It appeared to be a robot, or at the very least a cyborg. His species was quite hard to make out, since so much of his body was obscured or replaced by steel and wires that jutted at odd angles from his limbs. His pupils were a very unusual shade of teal, with slightly red tint in his main 'eye', making it look like he had a slightly ill candy cane for an eye. He was clothed in what appeared to be a tuxedo, bowtie included, that was slightly ill-fitting on his bulky robotic form. He was holding a tray in his hand and a monocle over his left pupil.

"Sandwiches for the lady?" he repeated.

"I, uh...yeah-yes please," came Valeria's awkward stammer of a reply. This wasn't really like her; more often than not her voice was bold and confrontational, always being at the forefront of any investigation. But not here. Here she was taken from her small and stocky office and transported to something more...lavish. A Five- maybe a Four and a Half- star hotel on wheels. At least, it sounded like it was on wheels. She could certainly hear the racking and rumbling of the train beneath her feet, but she couldn't feel any vibrations that often accompanied this kind of thing. Even around her were other passengers, in varying clothes and classes, chatting the evening away with glasses of champagne in hand like it was any other. It was...confusing, to say the least. Back home, she was hired for simple investigations into suspicious individuals and even then it often took place in normal (if borderline dangerous) circumstances. Even now, her jacket pocket was bulging from her large revolver, the Longbow, which she kept on hand for emergencies. And she was ready to use it if the goings went to hell.

Her thought process was temporarily stopped when a ceramic plate was carefully handled into the indentation on the table. On that plate contained two sandwiches, stuffed full of salmon and mayonnaise, while a small amount of garnish and a mint sweet hovered around it. Beyond that was, stationed within the cup holder, a bottle of Davidson's Best Brand beer. That stuff was the highest quality of it and Valeria never even had a sniff of it. But, there it was; a high-quality drink alongside her favourite type of sandwich. Things got even more strange, to which Valeria pulled herself closer to sniff at the sandwich, before casting a strange face.

"How...how did you know..."

"All passengers on-board are given brain-scans for their edible desires, miss," the cyborg said, his voice in that odd British falsetto all butlers and servants seemingly needed to have by law, "All with their permission, of course. It just saves us the time of taking orders when we can just prepare your favourite dishes upon request. At the highest quality possible, too."

Valeria was getting confused. Where was she? How did she get here? She cleared her throat and stumbled to her feet. For some reason they felt somewhat numb, though she managed to stay upright. She grabbed onto the cyborg's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, "Look, Cyborg Person...where the hell am I?"

"I must inquire you try to resist the urge to use profanity, no matter how tepid, in the vicinity of the others, Miss Stinger," the cyborg humphed, "I am Lionel Walters, your server today. And you are currently travelling through the expanses of space at speeds untold and uncountable. Take a look outside and see for yourself, if that will be enough to convince you."

Valeria did, throwing open the previously closed curtains and staring out into the area behind them. And Lionel was not joking. Beyond the reinforced glass lay an endless abyss of space, peppered with stars and the odd gas nebula. It looked more like some sort of interstellar postcard or Sci-Fi flick instead of the true blankness of the night sky. She couldn't believe it, no matter how hard she tried; she, a plucky and bitter young private detective...on a star train. Travelling through space, thousands if not millions of miles from her home. Valeria knew she was what many would consider "hard", but now, staring out into what seemed to be the impossible, she couldn't help but gibber somewhat. It was all...mesmorisingly confusing.

And yet...it awakened something within her psyche. Something she had forced to be buried in the back of her mind for some time. Just the thought of her old adventures, travelling with her best friend. Now it was just nothing more than a fleeting memory, half embedded with fun and fear and loss and, perhaps most of all, regret. But was it her regret...or someone else's? The thoughts turned to that man, a shapeless and soundless shadow burned into the pits of her sub-conscience, that made her feel a bit strange even now. Even WITH her legs half-asleep, she felt faint and was almost about to collapse when Lionel caught her mid-tumble and helped her back into her seat. She cracked open the bottle of beer on the table and took a hasty swig of it, like someone would drag on a cigarette. The taste was...fascinating, to say the least, but at least the feeling to her legs was starting to return. She turned back to Lionel, who was still standing in that odd and stiff way, clearing her throat and asking, "How...how did I get here?" in her old semi-gruff tone.

"All will be explained in due time, miss," Lionel said, sounding slightly more sympathetic, "As for you, I feel as if I may ask a few questions myself; are you alright, miss? You seemingly went rather weak at the spectacle of it all. Not even our most...squeamish of passengers do that. Is something...troubling you?"

"I dunno, it's..." Valeria began, before stopping herself, "N-No. No, it's uh, it's fine. I just...it brought up some bad memories. Just...some old adventures with a friend of mine."

"It sounds more like a bad dream, Miss Valeria. Perhaps we accidentally made you bump your head getting into the carriage?" Lionel said, his butler-esque drawl continuing long into his dialogue.

"No, no, it did happen!" Valeria snapped back, shooting out of her straight and glaring at Lionel straight into his eye, catching the attention of some of the other passengers who simply looked on with a mix of amusement and annoyance "Look, it was all real! I may not be able to PROVE it, but I remember it. The Screwdrivers, the Chrono-Pirates, even the engine noise! I've been trying to forgot that for YEARS, but even now I can still hear it's engines in my ears."

As Valeria said that, she began to image that noise within her own ears; a grinding, howling noise that transcended the world beyond, that slowly wailed and paused before wailing once more. At one time, this noise was the sound of adventure and wonder, but now it was a bitter reminder of the hellholes she has seen and experienced firsthand. All the therapy in the world couldn't hold back that noise and the demons that followed. Except...this time Valeria wasn't imagining it. The noise really was filling the carriage and the other passengers had began to look towards a certain spot with wonder and fear; some even dropped their champagne glasses in shock. Valeria turned to look, hand inching towards the Longbow, but stopped. In the place everyone was looking was a small gust of wind and a pool of light, vaguely interspersed with electric arcs flying across the room. Slowly, but surely, some sort of cylinder faded into existence. It was a large and tall cylinder, with what appeared to be a door on the front and angled roundels making up the top and bottom of it. A light was also attached atop that upper roundel, flashing in a slow and methodical manner, with a panel or two of glass broken for whatever reason. But what cinched it for Valeria, the one thing that almost made her drop her revolver in pure shock, was some words imprinted across the upper roundel, faded but still very much legible:

TIME AND RELATIVE DIMENSIONS IN SPACE

The whirs and gusts of wind ceased and Valeria paused, uncertain on what to really do. The other passengers too looked on in shock, not quite sure on what they had just seen, whilst Lionel just stared at the cylinder with that odd and snooty look on his face. There was a creak as the doors opened and green light spilled out into the room, of which two shadows appeared from. One was quite taller than the other and a male, being some sort of fox-like creature with an unusual split in his tail. His top quill was a much darker shade of grey than the rest of him, which formed a stripe that went all the way to between his eyes. He wore a tuxedo, black in colour, with a suitable white shirt and red bowtie wrapped around his neck. He wore brown leather gloves and a blue necktie around his head like a headband. One of his shoes appeared to be some sort of trainer whilst the other was a more suitable brown shoe, leading overall to this off, disjointed look about him. He looked scruffy and panicky, almost like her old friend. But it couldn't be him...could it?

Standing next to him was a female, this one a hedgehog and purple in fur colour. Her quills were tied up into a ponytail with a red jumper and black jeans for clothes. What appeared to be a cricket bat with duct tape wrapped around the handle was secured to her back via some sort of semi-invisible harness and she was just as scruffy, if not more so, than her friend. For whatever reason, some sort of anger began to well up in Valeria's mind, pooling into a puddle of sick hatred at the back of her mind, but once more she couldn't tell why. The female turned to her friend.

"You know..." she started, "There was PROBABLY a better way to appear on the train without standing out like a police box in New New York. We could've hid in the storage cart."

"Mark 7 Space Trains don't usually HAVE storage carts," the male retorted in a tired British accent, "And besides, I was trying to be stealthy. Guess the TARDIS needs just a little more service."

He quickly rubbed his hands together and digged into his jacket pocket before something was fished out of it. It resembled some sort of metallic wand with a ratcheting neck and rosewood handle, orange crystals situated against each end. The stranger held the device in his hand with a particular side, one covered by four small black rods and held it up the cylinder. He pressed a button on the device and a faint buzzing noise emanated throughout the carriage as an orange light was cast across the door to the cylinder, though nothing happened. He pulled a face and turned back to his friend, "Well, we're already standing out, so...well, I suppose we should get on with those aforementioned fried potato strips. Shall we, Miss Janic?"

"Why yes, Surgeon. I'll have a look around" 'Janic' said back, gesturing him towards what she assumed was the snack cart with her free hand, which was the direction he started to move in. Valeria's heart was pounding like a jackhammer in her chest. It was him! And yet...it wasn't him. He didn't look anything like she remembered him. He was...taller, for a start. And had red fur. And was basically an entire different species. But yet, that was him, in his slightly ill-fitting suit and silly little bowtie. Breath abated, she reached out to grab the Surgeon by his wrist. He stopped and began to stare at Valeria, his face screwing up in a mixture of surprise and confusion, almost as if he really did remember her. Valeria cleared her throat once more and slipped into her gruff tone of voice like an evening gown.

"Surgeon," she said in a stoic manner, trying to bury the conflicting emotions welling up inside her, "It's been a while."

"...Has it?" The Surgeon asked, looking around in a semi-dilerious state, "Well, it must've been for you, at the very least. Why stop me? NO wait, wait, I know! You...want an...autograph, is that right?"

Valeria's heart sank somewhat; did he really forget her? She shook her head and said, "No, Surgeon. It's ME. That should help in a few ways. IT'S. ME."

The Surgeon just continued to stare at her. Clearly she had met him before, and he was half-certain he had too. But...where? And, more importantly, who? As he scanned his own memory to figure out who she was, the more and more his regeneration sickness fought against it. Almost like he didn't want to know who this woman was. She looked only slightly familiar, perhaps with a passing glance at some old accomplice. Again, he was too sick and delirious to know or care.

"It's...you?" The Surgeon asked, trying to clear his mind, "Why yes, it IS you. I...think...who're you again?"

Valeria's look focused on anger and Janic could see what might happen next. She unsheathed her cricket bat and began to walk over to Valeria, dragging a cocky attitude in tow; "Hey, what's with all the ruckus? You might put the others off their food if you shot a guy or two!"

"This...isn't any of your concern," Valeria said after a while through a restrained tone, "I have some...unfinished business."

"And there's a better way to get around that," Janic said, trying to keep the situation stable. The Surgeon, even in his state and with what little time they'd know each other, had given Janic a quick crash course in Chrono-Tourism. Rule 1: Pacifism all the way. Best way to avoid corrupting the timeline, after all. Janic resumed, "But he's a bit...loopy at the moment, so he probably WON'T remember you from sight alone. How about we know your name and how you know this guy?"

Valeria's snarl dissipated and she stepped away from the ever-confused Surgeon, "Alright, kid. My name is Valeria Stinger and I'm a Private Detective for hire. I ALSO happen to be-"

Before she could continue, a loud puff of smoke caught her off guard and almost sent her tumbling head over heels before she could correct herself. The Surgeon looked at where the smoke had appeared, as did Janic and soon most of the passengers, who were mostly watching this conversation with curiosity. In the smoke stood a dapper sort of figure. He was tall and quite foreboding, with a general theme of "ringmaster" to his attire. He was wearing a waist coat over dress trousers, covered with a deep red trenchcoat with a strange wing around the back of his head. He was wearing brown leather gloves and boots, the stitching obvious and oddly done, while a bowtie hung around his neck with a button acting as its centre piece. He was also wearing a deep red top hat with a black band wrapped around it and a cane in his right hand, starting with another button model and ending with a brass cap. But perhaps the most interesting thing about him was his face, or lack thereof; his face was completely encased in shadow, by both the hat and some other unusual manner that wasn't easily apparent, leaving only two glowing yellow eyes and a toothy grin.

The figure raised his hand and cane to the air, bellowing out a "Ladies and Gentlemen!" in an odd, raspy voice, "Welcome! To the Last Train to Paradise!"


End file.
